


Grow a Spine

by Bittenhearts13



Series: Monkey Business and Gunshots [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Bottom Michael, Eventual Smut, FAHC, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Michael Being A Dick, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Vomit, butt stuff, everyone is a mess really, he also has a decent medical knowledge, he beats the shit out of James
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6678928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittenhearts13/pseuds/Bittenhearts13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael nearly gets everyone killed during a heist, he needs to let off some steam but he really doesn't know if fighting anyone is helping.<br/>Geoff is a worried old bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grow a Spine

Michael’s bruises were as purple as Ray’s hoodie, they stained his hands and back like ink. They ran deep under his skin and kept him awake enough to go smoke on the balcony of the penthouse.

 

It’s not Gavin or Jack that finds him puffing away and grumbling under his breath like usual, it’s Geoff. Geoff is the one that asks him, tells him, to take his shirt off so that damage control can get under way.

Michael wishes that it was Gavin that had found him; Gav never bothers him about this.

 

“No Geoff.” Geoff sighs as Michael lights up again, the neon of the city below plays against Michael’s pale skin and freckles nicely. The bruises seemed to be a canvas for the blood that had dried in the cracks of his knuckles, the front of his shirt gory from someone else’s blood and Geoff wishes that it didn’t bother him as much as it does.

 

“Fine, just let me look.” Michael’s eyes close.

 

He did not want to do this.

He didn’t want to feel vulnerable with Geoff, at least not like this. The purple of his bruises were his and his alone, his achy bones weren’t supposed to concern anyone else.

Michael puts out his cigarette and takes the city in for a moment. The tall building on what was probably 15th and Strawberry was just gone, his handy work that had nearly crushed on Ray and Ryan, nearly sent Jack careening into the wreckage. His guilt sat in his stomach all day. He managed to slip away from Jack’s concerned gaze and get to a fight club that hadn’t seen his face in nearly six months.

 

James had been there, eyebrow raised and stupid blonde hair in a mess. He would be a good enough fight, someone whose sheer size in comparison the Michael’s would prove to be a challenge. The florescent bulb cast long, strange shadows on the floor as James and Michael sized each other up.

 

Most of the fight was a blur; the light bulb was the only thing that Michael really was able to use as an anchor. Even as it swung its constant movement was easier to follow than that of the surrounding crowd.

It swung in tandem with James’ arm once. Michael noted this as the elbow came down hard and landed just a hair left of his T9 vertebrae, the guilt in his stomach unraveled as he managed to catch his breath. He could feel the bruise blossoming as he twisted out of James’ grip, boxing his ears and kneeing him in the stomach seemed to daze him enough for Michael to land a punch or twenty.

 

It was Peake that had pried Michael off of James. He had kept going, he hadn’t really realized he had, until the millstone in his stomach had turned into a small pebble. James was bloody, nose was decently broken, and maybe his jaw too by the looks of things. He’d probably get an upset call from Elyse and Bruce later, but as he buckled into his car to go home he felt lighter.

 

The elevator ride back up to the penthouse had let that pebble grow again, an inevitable growth it seemed.

 

His bed was no comfort, so here he was.

 

Michael puts out his cancer stick, shucks the shirt off and throws it on a nearby patio chair. The purple is nearly black; it bleeds into other areas of his skin, sick green and yellow. He lets Geoff look at his hands first; a lump in his throat is forming as Geoff turns them over in his own rough palms so gently. Geoff tuts at his obvious lack of wrapping, scowling at the scrapes and bruising peppering his hand before looking Michael dead in the face, his gaze was almost unnerving.

 

            “Can I see your back now?”

 

            “Yeah.” Michael turns and leans over the railing; the street below is mostly empty. Geoff lets out a low whistle.

 

            “Damn, they did a real number on your back here. Jesus Michael…” Michael isn’t sure if the heat in his gut is the guilt of today or- “Can I check your spine? It looks, it looks like it could be real bad.”

Michael nods and he feels warm fingers start at his L5, right above his hips. The slowly make their way up his back; he can hear Geoff counting under his breath. He winces when Geoff’s fingers get to the lower thoracic vertebrae, a car speeds down the street below him.

He feels Geoff lean into him; his breath is hot on the shell of his ear, he can almost feel the ghost of the older man’s beard.

            “That hurt?”

 

            “No shit that hurts, it’s fucking bruised to all hell isn’t it?” Michael feels nauseas, no something that's not quite nausea, as Geoff pushes into his T9. “Could you not?”

 

He hears Geoff scoff as he continues up the spine; Michael is mentally keeping count with him, silently praying that it’s over soon. Geoff’s fingers almost skirt past his cervical vertebrae, Michael lets out a sigh of relief just as he feels the rough pads of fingers into the base of his skull just under his hair.

The heat in his stomach coils and he bows his head forward for Geoff.

 

“You’re fine besides that one nasty bruise.” He feels his breathing speed up as the rest of Geoff’s hand settles on his neck. “Also, don’t drink till it heals up some.” Michael tenses up and tries to look over his shoulder, Geoff’s hand firmly keeping his gaze down.

 

            “And why the fuck is that?”

 

            “The thoracic region of your spine protects the bundle of nerves that control your liver and your stomach and a good portion of your GI tract. I don’t want to have to deal with alcohol poisoning until you see Caleb.” Michael rolls his eyes and tries to relax, his breath practically coming out in puffs.

 

            “Fine.” 

**Author's Note:**

> It's not the bruising that's making him nauseated, though I'm sure it's not helping. Also I have the fight between Michael and James actually written out in more detail but that's for the Fh series I'm going to start soon. *insert thumbs up emoji here*
> 
> This was the fuckin song I listened to the entire time I was writing, have no clue why really. https://youtu.be/fdHzLnJTNq4?list=PLletS1DIpfwfHa2CyphRBu215qSvA85kn


End file.
